


Over Many Setting Suns

by ghostlin



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec knows everything, Canon Compliant, Clary facing her greatest demon yet:, Downworlder Politics, Dramatic Jace, F/F, M/M, Simon almost gets adopted by the Seelie Queen, Tired Magnus Bane, compulsory heterosexuality, up to the end of 2A
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 08:33:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10760574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlin/pseuds/ghostlin
Summary: Luke laughs. “Simon Lewis has your back. How’s that feel?”Jace gives him a sour look, trying not to grin at the little bubble of elation growing in his chest at the thought. “Honestly? Terrifying.”--After touching the Soul Sword, Jace is given an impossible mission by Aldertree and promptly shuts himself away in his room, unwilling to face any of the other Shadowhunters. Everyone is too busy trying to pick up the pieces and work out how to mend relations with the Downworld to break him out of his misery.Everyone except Simon, who, as it turns out, has more than a few problems of his own to contend with.





	Over Many Setting Suns

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to finish this before 2B starts up again, because Jimon is rising and the chemistry between them in the last episode inspired me to write this, a fic which I wrote a 10k plan for and then kind of got away from me a little. I hope you like it!
> 
> Title taken from 'Sun' by Two Door Cinema Club. 
> 
>  
> 
> \--

After the elation he had felt after walking out into the sunlight for the first time in weeks, Simon had really expected his newfound sense of freedom to last a little bit _longer._ However, it’s kind of hard to keep up a cheerful, carefree demeanor when he’s being forced to wait out on the steps of the Institute like some stupid kid.    

Ok. He can do this. It’s not a big deal, all he has to do is get past Raj. Hardly the most fearsome of enemies. Simon has definitely faced worse; after all, he almost _died_ last night.

God, he’s tired.

“C’mon, man,” Simon affects a wide eyed, pleading expression, the one that always worked best with academic tutors and librarians with overdue book notices. “Just let me talk to Clary.”

Raj’s face is impassive. “You know the rules, Simon. I can’t let you in.”

Simon nods, biting his lip. In spite of the feeling of the sunlight, warm on the back of his neck, the gentle way the leaves on the trees are blowing and the ambient noise of city life around him, he’s pissed. Raj is  _enjoying_ this, he’s certain of it.

He’s starting to consider just foregoing politeness and using his vampire speed to get around Raj when Aldertree strides to the doorway, his expression impassive as he regards Simon on the steps.

“There’s been a change of policy,” he says shortly. “All Downworlders are now granted access to the Institute.”

“Cool,” Simon grins, bounding up the Institute steps and slipping past a disgruntled looking Raj. “Raphael told me to lay low here for a while, that ok?”

Aldertree nods, looking disinterested, before he turns away and strides back over to the large desk in the middle of the room and resuming what looks like an intense discussion with Alec. The desk between them is full of strategy sheets and maps; Simon wonders whether they’re planning some kind of giant structural overhaul.

Raj sidles up to him. Clearly, Simon thinks bitterly, he’s worthy of conversation now that he’s been let in.  

“Downworlder relations,” he murmurs. Simon looks at him askance. “This whole thing has been a PR nightmare for the Clave. Now that the Soul Sword’s gone missing, everyone’s looking at Aldertree to fix things.”

Simon gazes around the Institute’s large hall. The bodies are now conspicuously absent; aside from a few faint scorch marks there’s no sign of the events that took place less than twenty four hours ago.

He tries not to feel nauseous. He tells himself that he can’t get physically sick any more, but it does little to quell the hollow feeling in his stomach. This must be why Aldertree changed the rules about Downworlders in the Institute; it would look bad, excluding them all after something like this.

He strides over to the desk and tries not to feel too put out when Alec catches sight of him and immediately frowns. Alec is a frowny guy to begin with, after all, and the situation isn’t exactly a picnic right now.

“So do I just pick a room to sleep in, or...?” Simon says hopefully. He tries not to fiddle with any of the maps or pencils lying on the table; it’s a nervous tick he’s pretty sure no one here will appreciate.

“Just... do whatever you want.” Alec murmurs, sounding irritable. “I don’t mean that literally. Don’t bug Clary, either; she’s looking after Isabelle.”

Simon looks around at the gathering of people working at the control panels and talking urgently into comm links. There’s no sign anywhere of the familiar blond hair. “Where’s Jace?”

Alec looks up. “Refuses to come out of his room.” He looks Simon up and down; Simon shifts uncomfortably, watching a new thought slowly forming in his eyes.

“Why not?” Simon says. “Is something wrong? Can I go bug him instead?”

Aldertree nods at Alec from across the table. Alec seems to come to a decision, folding away the map he’d been studying with an odd smile on his face. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea...”

  


\--

  


There’s a untouched tray of food on the floor beside Jace’s closed door. Simon frowns at it; nudging out of the way with his foot and knocking as loudly as he dares.

“Jace? It’s Simon.”

There’s no response. He waits for thirty seconds, counting under his breath, before trying again, rapping sharply, once, twice more. “I’m not going away!” He calls. “ _Jace!_ Open the door!”

He gets his wish; the door opens and Jace stands on the threshold, glaring at him. At least, Simon’s pretty sure it’s Jace; the glare is familiar, but the haunted look in his eyes, the despair etched around the lines of his mouth… it’s a wholly different picture compared with the Jace he’d first met, all sardonic smiles and easy confidence.

“What?” Jace growls. His hair is loose, falling softly over his face. He’s wearing track pants and a grey sweatshirt zipped halfway up his bare chest.

Simon swallows. “Can I come in? Alec… Alec said you weren’t letting anyone in.”

“Well, maybe you should’ve listened to him.” Jace starts to push the door closed, but Simon puts a foot in the way before he can shut him out entirely. “I swear by the _angel,_ Simon, I’m not in the mood.”

“I know,” Simon tries to sound as apologetic as possible. Through the gap in the door, only Jace’s eyes are visible; they are burning with annoyance. “I know, ok? Just -- five minutes. Please.”

There’s a short silence, followed by an indistinguishable string of muttering and some cursing. The door swings open, and Simon slips over the threshold before Jace can change his mind.

“It doesn’t _mean_ anything,” Jace grumbles, closing the door behind him. “I know how infuriatingly persistent you can be, is all.”

Simon doesn’t answer immediately. He’s momentarily distracted by Jace’s room, never having seen inside it before. He’s surprised by how tidy it is. The bed is neatly made; the small indent on the quilt where Jace had obviously been curled up before his arrival is the only sign of inhabitation. The walls are mostly bare; apart from a few decorative Seraph blades and a large mirror, as well as a built in wardrobe across from the bed, it’s very sparse.

His attention is drawn to the large flatscreen television on top of a chest. A stack of DVDs lies beside it, the only real clutter in the room. He peers down at them and grins when he recognises the cover art for _A New Hope_. He _knew_ Jace couldn’t be entirely immune to the allure of Mundie pop culture.  

“You’ve been busy.” Simon pokes through the DVDs and smiles to himself. Alongside Star Wars, he spots  _Captain America: The First Avenger_ and _Pulp Fiction_ among a few others.

“What do you want?” Jace sounds tired; he drops heavily back onto the bed, looking like he wants nothing more than to crawl under the covers and brood in peace.

Sensing the need to tread carefully, Simon takes a seat in a chair beside the window and tries to project an air of confidence. “Alec told me he and Aldertree gave you a new assignment.”

Jace snorts. “He did, did he?”

“Yeah.” It’s difficult to catch Jace’s eye. After a moment, Simon gives up, twisting his hands together nervously. “Downworlder relations. He said you wouldn’t take it.”

Jace looks up. His expression suggests that he has several choice words in mind for Alec, for giving this information to Simon. Newly apprehensive, Simon ploughs on.

“Well -- he mostly said that you yelled at him. And told him to chose someone who hadn’t murdered dozens of Downworlders. And then you went to your room, and haven’t let anyone in here since. And then -- I showed up, which brings us back to now, I guess.” Simon tilts his head to one side. “You know you can’t stay in here forever, right?”

“Has it crossed your mind that maybe waltzing in here and offering inane pieces of advice isn’t the best strategy?” Jace says bitterly. He runs a hand through his hair, looking tired. “Go outside, enjoy the sunlight. Shut the door on your way out.”

“Funny.” Simon’s voice is dry. “I thought you were many things, but I never pegged you for a quitter.”

Jace doesn’t answer immediately. He closes his eyes, a wave of pure self loathing flashing over his features before he slumps back onto the bed and puts his hands over his face. “Get out, Simon.”

Simon doesn’t move. He stares at Jace’s prone form for a few moments, trying to figure out what to say. It’s not easy; most of the time, he just talks until something hits the mark or the other person walks off. He’s torn. He needs better words, words with weight. Words that are worthy of the task in front of him.

“A month ago, I died,” he says eventually, voice quiet. “You saw me crawl out of my own grave. It was -- horrible. Like the world had just turned into this… pitch black void. I thought I’d never see my mom and sister again. I thought my life was over,” his mouth twists; he looks down at his hands, sensing Jace’s eyes on him. “Ironic, right?”

Jace says nothing. He’s propped himself up on his elbows, an unreadable expression on his face.

“And yeah,” Simon continues. “I screwed stuff up, _majorly_. I’ve basically been couch hopping for weeks; Raphael’s looking out for me, but I don’t really have a place in the Hotel any more.”

“If this is meant to cheer me up, it isn’t working.” Jace mumbles.

“Actually, it’s not.” Simon says. “But it’s not like anyone else in this place is gonna tell you you’re being an _idiot.”_

“I _killed_ people.” Jace replies, sounding anguished. _“Your_ people.”

“No,” Simon snaps. “Valentine killed people. Right after I almost died,  _again,_ and _you_ saved my life. I could’ve killed you, it’s like you don’t even care!”

Jace looks haunted. He meets Simon’s eyes, expression unguarded for once and shockingly open.  Simon can tell they’re both remembering it; the bite, the lethal exhilaration of it, singing through their veins. The blood. So much blood…

“But I’m still here, aren’t I?” Feeling emboldened, Simon reaches out, prodding Jace’s knee. “ _You’re_ still here. You think you have problems? Welcome to the club. The Jace I first met, you think that idiot would let anything stop him from fixing things?” He waits until Jace looks at him properly. He can see something flickering in his eyes, the embers of something inside beginning to glow. “Hell no. That Jace? He would _fight_.”

  


\--

  


_Raziel,_ Jace can’t fucking believe Simon.

Downworlders tend to be respectful of Nephilim, even if most aren’t particularly fond of them. Whatever air of careful distance most Downworlders use in their dealings at the Institute, apparently nobody’s bothered to hand the unruly fledgeling the rulebook. Whether it was because of his relationship with Clary or his comparatively recent transformation, Simon just wandered around the Institute like he owned the place, barging in where he was neither needed or wanted.

Jace strides down the corridor, heading for the control room and trying to reign in his furious mood. This decision had _nothing_ to do with Simon, anyway. He couldn’t ignore Alec and Aldertree forever. He might as well deal with it now before he found himself in deeper shit.

He rounds the corner and almost smacks right into Isabelle. Before he can react, she flings her arms around his neck and pulls him close.

“ _Jace_.” Her face is muffled by his jacket; he’s abruptly reminded of the way she used to get upset about things when they were little; those short, violent bursts of rage. She’d bury her face in his chest back then, too, her arms tight around his waist. She’d treated him like a brother right away; like he would look out for her, just as Alec did. He feels a flash of remorse for the time he’d spent holed up in his room while she’d been out here, needing him. “I’m so glad you’re ok.”

She draws back and holds him at arm's length, looking him over. She’s still a little pale, the Yin Fen clearly having done a number on her, but she’s already steadier on her feet and she’s no longer trembling.

“You’re better.” He breathes, grinning with relief at the sight of her.

She gives him a wan smile. “Clary’s been amazing. Yesterday was pretty rough, but… it’s getting easier.” Glancing up and down the corridor, Izzy draws him into a shadowy alcove. “You changed your mind about the Downworlder job?”

“You know Aldertree and Alec won’t give me a choice,” Jace says roughly. A couple of people walk past and give them odd looks. He puts a hand on Izzy’s shoulder and angles their bodies so that their voices won’t travel, lowering his voice. “Look. If you must know, Simon basically broke into my room and wouldn’t leave me alone until I came out,” Izzy looks amused; he drops his head, glaring at the floor. “I know, ok? Don’t spread it around, I’m pretty embarrassed.”  

“He’s a force to be reckoned with,” her smile flickers a little. She fiddles with the silver snake coiled around her wrist, looking a bit distant. “No wonder Clary’s with him.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you.” Jace feels bad for bringing it up, but he has to know, and Izzy’s the only person he can trust who would understand. “He bit me,” he watches her eyes widen and shakes his head. “No -- not -- not like _that_. He was dying. I told him it was ok.”

“Are you ok?” Izzy clutches his arm, turning his wrist over and examining the marks puncturing his wrist. Beside his arm, her bite wounds line up alongside his, partially healed. “That’s really reckless, Jace. He could’ve drained you.”

“He almost did.” Jace mutters. “Listen, it’s ok. It wasn’t his fault. I just wanted to know… when. Uh,” he clears his throat, pulling his wrist away and drawing his sleeve down. “Is it… when a vamp bites you, it it normal to feel… uh…”

He watches the concern on Izzy’s face dissolve; she smirks at him. “Turned on?” At Jace’s frown, she laughs. “Infatuated? The desire overwhelming you, leaving you aching for --”

“ _Stop it._ ” Jace hisses. “Never mind, forget I asked.”

Her smirk disappears as she softens, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s totally normal, Jace. You’ll be fine, as long as you and Simon don’t start hitting each other up for it on the quiet.” She bites her lip, stifling a grin. “You’re back to normal now, right?”

“Right.” Jace says firmly. He grips the sleeves of his sweatshirt to stop himself from running his fingers over the bite. It’s started to become something of a nervous habit. “Back to normal.”

“Good.” It’s Izzy’s turn to look uncertain. She opens her mouth, closes it; tucks a long strand of hair behind her ear. “By the way… Alec told me about Clary.”

_Fuck._ “He did?” Jace feels cold. The temperature seems to have dropped several degrees; he glances over his shoulder, even though the hallway is now empty. “Who else knows? Does _Clary_ know?”

“No,” she shakes her head fervently. “No, of course not. No one knows, I promise.” An implacable expression flickers across her lovely features; she grins, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s good news, right?”

“Yep.” Jace says shortly. What’s wrong with him, why is everything coming out sounding like a lie? “Great news.”

“How’re you gonna tell her?” Izzy’s voice doesn’t sound entirely sincere either. What’s _wrong_ with the two of them, all of a sudden?

At least Jace has a definite answer for that one.

“Honestly? I have absolutely no idea.”    

  


\--

  


After a bit of sleuthing Simon eventually finds Luke in the Institute. The bodies of the Downworlders have been moved to a small room off from the main hall of the Institute, covered over with sheets. There are fewer than he remembers, some of the dead must have already been claimed by friends or relatives. Luke crouches amongst them, moving through the rows, making notes on the pad he usually uses for police work. He makes a small, solitary figure, alone in the midst of a sea of white.

Simon coughs. Luke looks up, his grave expression softening at the sight of him. To his surprise, he scrambles to his feet and pulls Simon into a rough, one armed hug.

“Hey,” he rumbles. “Didn’t expect to see you back here anytime soon.”

“Yeah.” Simon shrugs. He doesn’t want to be in here right now, if he’s being honest; he’s terrified he might recognise someone from the Clan, someone he _knows,_ just... lying there, still and silent on the cold stone. It must be so much worse for Luke, losing members of his pack. His family _._ “Raphael told me I’ll be safer here. Y’know, now that I’m…”

“Different?” Luke finishes for him wryly. “Santiago doesn’t miss a trick. Daylighters are the stuff of legend; you’d better keep out of the vampires’ way until you can come up with a good story.”

“As in... how it happened?” Simon says, staring at the carvings on a nearby pillar without really seeing them. He lowers his voice. “At first I had no idea. But… I remember Valentine saying something about Jace’s pure angel blood…”

Luke nods. “That’ll do it,” he tucks his notepad into the pocket of his jacket and sighs heavily. “So that’s how he saved you.”

“Uh.” Simon blinks. He thinks about how he felt in Aldertree’s office. Lightheaded, the room spinning, his grip tight on Jace’s arm. Stupid Jace, giving Simon all that he had to offer without a second thought. “Yeah.”

“Listen,” Luke puts a firm hand on his shoulder. “No-one can know. I’m sorry Simon, but you’re in danger. And if the truth gets out Jace will be too.”

“Danger, huh?” Simon laughs. He hopes it doesn’t come out as nervously high pitched as he thinks it does. “That makes a change.”

Luke’s concerned expression doesn’t budge. He turns back to the bodies and lowers his head, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Jace will have enough to worry about as it is.” He says eventually, sounding absent and grieved. “Clary told me about Aldertree’s new Downworlder initiative. Kid can’t catch a break.”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” Simon feels grateful that the topic came up on its own. It feels wrong, somehow, talking about Downworld diplomacy while standing here. He realises he’s whispering like the dead might somehow overhear. “We need to find a way into the Downworld. Obviously, I’m kind of useless right now, I can’t go back to the Dumort with _Jace_ in tow…” Simon shudders internally, wondering how _that_ would play out. “There must be some other way.”

“There is.” Luke starts moving towards the door. He indicates that Simon follow him. “We need someone who knows more about the Downworld than anyone.” He grimaces, checking his watch. “Go find Jace. We’re going to Magnus’s.”

  


\--

  


They wait for a few uncomfortable minutes on the doorstep of Magnus’s penthouse apartment before the man himself opens the door, clad in a dressing gown, and just looks at them all. It’s a long, steady look; Jace notes his worn appearance and dark undereye circles and tries not to feel alarmed. It’s been a very long few days, but Magnus gives off such an air of capable invincibility that it’s easy to forget he is, at least partially, human.

“I had hoped to catch a few hours of sleep before you all came rushing back.”

Jace feels an uncomfortable twinge of guilt. What Magnus really deserves is to take Alec and go spend a month travelling around the Mediterranean uninterrupted by anyone or anything.  

“Magnus, I’m really sorry.” He steps forward, trying to separate himself from the others. This isn’t Luke’s or Simon’s fault. “There’s literally no-one else I can ask. I only need ten minutes, I swear.”

“Always so dramatic!” He watches Magnus’s tired eyes soften as he smiles gently. “Very well, come in. Hello, Luke.”

“Magnus,” Luke nods, returning the smile. “The kids can’t seem to slow down, huh?”

Through the wide hallway, the midday sun filtering through the penthouse skylights, they follow the sound of Magnus’s bright, answering laughter.  

  


\--

  


When Jace finally finishes explaining his predicament Magnus sighs and stretches his limbs in a very feline manner. He’d been pacing until Jace had reached the part about touching the Soul Sword, and then he’d gone still in front of the wide south facing windows, staring out at the city as if lost in thought.

“You have to understand that this isn’t a problem I can just throw a spell or a potion at.” Magnus rubs absently at a tendon in his neck, frowning. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually all powerful.”

“I know,” Jace says. “I mean -- I only wanted to ask for your advice.”

“Well, I’ll do what I can to help, of course.” Magnus waves a graceful hand, dark nail polish glinting in the sunlight. “Currently, my only idea is… hardly advisable.”

“Magnus, _please_.”

They stare each other down. Jace tilts up his chin, trying to project an aura of confidence rather than desperation.

Finally, to his relief, Magnus nods. “All right. You could always try the Court of the Seelies. They’re the oldest organised Downworld authority, and they have a great deal of influence. If you could come to an arrangement with them… well.”

He catches Luke frowning. “The Fair Folk? That’s way too dangerous. They have hollow backs, they lie --”

“They have a strong sense of repayment, and the resources you’re looking for.” Magnus sounds tired. “Look, I never said it was a good idea.”

“I’ll do it.” Jace hears himself say. Luke looks at him sharply; out of the corner of his eye, he catches Simon’s appalled expression. He turns away from the others a little, gazing out through the window. “What choice do I have?”

Magnus sinks down onto the sofa. It’s if he’s broken a spell, and the others follow suit; Simon sits next to him, taking his shoes off and curling up against the sofa’s arm. Luke takes a nearby armchair, and Jace perches on the coffee table. “Well. You’d want to seek an audience with the Queen.”

“Great.” He leans forward, resisting the urge to jump up again and start pacing. It’s a nerve racking idea, but it’s better than nothing. “Then what?”

“Keep it concise, and honest.” Magnus purses his lips thoughtfully. “Honesty is key. If you lie, she’ll know. Don’t even think about taking any Shadowhunter weapons with you. And -- Jace, this is really important -- every deal made by a Faerie comes with some hidden price. There’s always a sting in the tail.”

Jace is about to reiterate his point about being entirely out of options, but Simon cuts in before he has the chance.

“Are you _seriously_ thinking about doing this?” The expression on his face is almost enough to give Jace pause. His eyes are wide, brows drawn together with concern. If Luke looks uneasy, Simon looks downright terrified. “It’s way too dangerous! You can’t trust them, and you _definitely_ don’t make deals with them! Raphael told me some horrible stories, I can’t even --”

Jace cuts him off. “I need a way in, ok? I know it’s risky --”

“Understatement of the century.” Simon glares at him, and then at Magnus, as if he’s the one to blame for bringing the idea up in the first place.

“If you’ve got a better idea, I’d love to hear it.” Jace snaps. At Simon’s chastened look he softens. “Magnus is right. It’s not ideal, but it’s a start. I can’t make up for what I did --” he breaks off, angry at the way his voice is trembling. “But I have to try _something_.”

A prolonged silence follows his words. Luke looks grave. Simon’s eyes are wide with anxiety.

Magnus spreads his hands out. “If you’re travelling into the Seelie Realm, I suppose I’d better show you how to find a door.”

“You’re not coming with me?” Jace says, and then abruptly wishes he hadn’t. “I mean -- it’s fine.”

A hollow smile twitches at the corners of Magnus’s mouth. “I’m afraid I can’t. The Queen is very… particular about her guests. She doesn’t forget an insult -- honestly, you stop one Mundane from drinking the punch at a revel two centuries ago and you’re _blacklisted_ \--”

“Magnus.” Jace interrupts what could turn into a lengthy nostalgia trip and steers the conversation back on course. “I can do this. I’ll go alone.”

He watches as Magnus stands in one graceful, fluid motion, his earlier exhaustion forgotten as he settles himself into Professional Warlock Mode. “Very well.”

Jace is so caught up with his new mission, standing up and nodding at Luke, who is now beginning to look more convinced, that he entirely fails to notice that Simon hasn’t moved an inch.

“No.”

Jace blinks. “No?”

“Going to the Seelie Court alone? No way,” Simon jumps up, sliding his trainers back on. I’m coming with you. Downworlder Ambassador.”

He’s about to let out an incredulous laugh, but Jace can see something in those dark eyes that tells him Simon is one hundred percent unwilling to back down.  

Magnus glances between them a couple of times, waiting for Jace to reply. When Jace eventually jerks his chin to the affirmative, he grins, clapping his hands together. “Excellent. Well then, I need to fetch something from my cabinet. Simon, with me, please.”

Jace watches them go, trying not to feel resentful at how much happier Magnus looks at the prospect of Simon going with him, like he needs _protection_ or something. _Simon’s_ the one that going to need protecting.

He and Luke look at each other at something of a loss.

Luke frowns. “Downworlder Ambassador? Is that a thing now?”

“No.” Jace says irritably, shoving his hands into his pockets. “No. He just made that title up for himself.”

Luke laughs. “Simon Lewis has your back. How’s that feel?”

Jace gives him a sour look, trying not to grin at the little bubble of elation growing in his chest at the thought. “Honestly? Terrifying.”

  


\--

  


It’s lunchtime in New York City, and the air is crisp and fresh. A group of tourists wander by, clad in shorts and sunglasses and themed baseball caps, craning their necks up at the skyscrapers. Jace feels a sudden, irritable flash of jealousy. In another world he and Simon might be wandering these streets too, or taking one of those open top bus tours. No dark shadows or pressing missions, their only goal would be to enjoy the good weather while it lasted.

Jace has never been on a bus before. In his mind’s eye, he can definitely imagine Simon wearing a silly hat with the Statue of Liberty on it.  

Magnus slides his hand into his pocket and draws out a smooth stone with a neat hole through the centre. He hands it to Simon, who takes it, turning it over in his hands and looking uncharacteristically grave.

“What if it doesn’t work for me?” He frowns. “I barely know what I’m doing here.”

“It will,” Magnus’s voice is gentle. “Seeing Stones work for all Downworlders, not just Seelies and Warlocks. You can find the door.”

Both Simon and Jace shoot him looks of identical scepticism. Magnus merely smiles; in spite of his youthful appearance, his expression reminds Jace of a parent amused by the behaviour of their toddlers.

Jace scowls. This is ridiculous, he’s an _adult._ “We’ll be fine.”

With a final parting (and slightly condescending, in Jace’s opinion) smile, Magnus turns and drifts into the crowd, immediately disappearing from view. Beside him, Simon’s fingers tighten around the Seeing Stone.   

“He said… find a place where time feels wrong,” he says, catching Jace’s eye. “So I’m thinking we start at the nearest Target and work from there.”

Jace isn’t sure what a Target is, but he doesn’t want to let Simon see his confusion. Instead, he shrugs. “Lead the way.”

  


\--

  


They don’t get very far before Simon comes to an abrupt halt, staring at something. Jace slows down and tries to follow his line of sight. There’s a line of trees with wide, spreading branches lining the sidewalk. The two they’ve paused in front of, on the surface, look like all the rest. And yet... there’s something about the way the branches are interlocking above their heads. There’s something about the air. Is it him, or are the cars moving between them a fraction slower than they should be?

The more Jace looks, the more the whole thing feels somehow… off. He has the unsettling suspicion these trees are doing a very good impression of being trees, but that they’re actually a very convincing replica. Whatever this is, it’s something more than a glamour, something arcane and unknowable. The back of his neck tingles; he rubs a hand over it, grimacing.

Simon holds the Seeing Stone up to his eye and squints through it.

“Here.” He lowers it slowly, looking far too serious for Jace’s liking. “It’s here.”

Jace swallows. “Great. How do I see it?”

Simon reaches out and, in an absurd echo of the day they met, gently takes his hand.

Before his eyes, an ornately carved archway begins to assemble itself. At the peak of the arch, words etched in the strange language of the Seelies glow and fade as the gateway fully solidifies. Jace reads them without comprehension; he hopes that they’re a greeting rather than a warning, but it doesn’t seem likely.

“I’m guessing we just walk through it.” Simon murmurs. He hasn’t let go of Jace’s hand.

“Together?” Jace whispers. Nobody around them can see or hear, but it seems like a quiet kind of moment. Like they’re at the edge of the world, or something.

Simon nods. “Together.”

They take a small step forward, hand in hand, walking carefully off the curb and striding forwards until their feet sink into soft, earthen ground.

  


\--

  


“I know you don’t want to hear it, but this still feels like a really bad idea.”

The forest path they’ve found themselves on is dimly lit and secretive; the sunlight through the trees is hazy and indistinct, and Jace comes to the unsettling realisation that he can no longer tell whether it’s dawn or dusk. He wonders if this place even _has_ a dawn or dusk. There are rustlings coming from the leafy canopy overhead; they’re almost certainly being watched.

“You’re right,” Jace mutters. “I don’t want to hear it.”

He resists the urge to reach into his jacket and feel for the reassuring outline of his stele. The path is winding and narrow, but there’s the flickering glow of a multitude of lights up ahead that suggests they’re rapidly nearing their destination. He’s so caught up with it all, trying to catch the faint murmurings and make out the shadowy figures through the branches, that he almost doesn’t notice Simon reaching out to touch a bright blossom dangling from a nearby vine.

Startled, Jace bats his hand away. “Don’t touch _anything_ here. Just -- let me do the talking, ok?”

To his surprise Simon nods, expression implacable. His dark eyes flicker in the gloaming. Jace is struck by how ethereal he looks. The shadows dance over his face; he can imagine vines twining themselves through Simon’s hair, dark green against his pale skin. For the first time Jace fully registers the change in him. He’s not a Mundane, not any more. In many ways, he’s part of this realm in ways that Jace will never be.

“Ok,” Jace says, mostly to himself. He nods to give them both some reassurance that he knows what he’s doing.

They’ve come upon the forest clearing, the source of the light. From this close, he can see ornate lanterns swaying slightly in the trees, although he can’t feel any breeze. Several tall, armoured figures gaze at them with stony expressions as they pass, but nobody makes any attempt to stop them as they reach the edge of the glade.

He’s never seen so many faeries in one place before. They appear to be of every kind imaginable, from the tall and stately to the little and hobbled. Some have skin like bark, like leaves, one has antlers curving out from coiled red hair that reminds him unsettlingly of Clary. Some have amber eyes, some high, carved cheekbones; some long, gnarled claws, or leathery wings. He recognises several from his ill-advised excursions to the Hunter’s Moon; they pass a familiar looking curvacious girl with dark skin, and a boy with curly hair whose eyes burn as they meet Jace’s.

They all have one thing in common, though. Every last figure in the clearing is staring at them.

He feels Simon draw in closer against his back.

“My name is Jace Wayland.” Jace congratulates himself on managing to keep his voice steady. “I seek an audience with the Seelie Queen.”

A strange rustling follows his words, and several beings in the clearing let out a low hiss. He forces himself not to panic, to remind himself that the Accords are binding for _all_ Downworlders, but something tells him that these ancient beings care about as much for the laws of the Shadowhunters as they do for the laws of Mundanes.

They are here because someone, _something_ , wants them here.

Jace waits. Nothing happens for a few moments.

And then, she’s there.

He doesn’t know what just happened. He hadn’t noticed her before this moment, but then it’s as though she’s always been here, sitting upon an intricately carved, ivy covered throne.

Ok, scratch that. She’s _definitely_ been here the whole time. It’s just that at this moment she’s decided to make them aware of her presence. Her face is severe and ageless; dark skin, high cheekbones and a sharp nose give her an almost birdlike quality. She folds her thin hands, graceful sleeves falling and settling, sheer as dragonfly wings.

_“Jace.”_ He struggles not to react; the Seelie Queen’s voice seems to be coming from inside his head. _“Wayland. Lightwood. Morgenstern. Named and nameless. These are not the last of them; it is a wonder that you find yourself anywhere at all, Shadowhunter.”_

Jace feels dumbstruck. He becomes aware in some vague, dim way that Simon is shifting with discomfort behind him. Ok, good, he’s not going mad. He squares his shoulders and tries to pull himself together.

“Your Majesty.” Jace bows low; he nudges his foot against Simon’s, hoping that he has the presence of mind to do the same. After a brief moment of deliberation, he decides that it’s best just to get straight to the point. “I have come to the Seelie Court with an appeal. I seek your help.”   
  
A low, malevolent hum starts, filling the clearing, growing in volume and echoing through the trees until the back of Jace’s neck starts to prickle. The Queen holds up a single, pointed finger, and a hush immediately falls.

_“This Court does not recognise appeals,”_ comes the deep, regal voice. It rustles against Jace’s ears like dry oak leaves. _“This much you know already. You have come to strike a deal.”_

He swallows. “Yes.”

The Queen leans forward; his instincts tell him not to run, although fleeing seems like a perfectly rational action right now. Although her eyes are piercing he’s not sure she’s moving closer in order to see his face more clearly. She’s looking deeper, like she’s searching right through him.  

_“And what, Shadowhunter, makes you think I would bargain with one such as you? You touched the Soul Sword, did you not, and with that action slaughtered dozens of my kind?”_

He’d known this was coming, but actually hearing the words out loud doesn’t make it any easier. Every counter-argument, justification and plea escapes him. It’s the truth; he _had_ done that, and no amount of wishing or atonement is going to change it. Jace opens his mouth, shuts it again. He ducks his head and stares down at the mossy ground beneath his feet. It looks soft; maybe he should just lie down here and let the faeries put him out of his misery.

“It wasn’t his fault.”

Oh no.

In Jace’s peripheral vision -- he daren't turn to look -- Simon moves forward a little, hovering at his shoulder. His voice is small and quiet, but unwavering. “It… it wasn’t his fault,” he says again, drawing the Queen’s attention away from Jace. “He was trying to _save_ the Downworld. It was a trap.”

No. Nope. The Seelie Queen looks Simon up and down, her gaze quizzical.

_“And who are you, little vampire?”_

Jace feels sick. Letting Simon come along had been a mistake, yet another to add to an already long and depressing list. He’s never going to forgive himself --

He notes Simon straightening, like he’s trying to make himself look taller. “Simon Lewis, uh, ma’am, M--Majesty.”

Whatever he’d feared, the Queen does not immediately smite Simon into oblivion for speaking out of turn. She doesn’t even look angry, just vaguely curious. _“Fledgeling, why do you vouch for this Shadowhunter?”_

“He saved my life.” He hears Simon swallow. “He didn’t have to. I could’ve killed… he saved me.”

The Seelie Queen’s gaze flickers back and forth between them. Jace holds his ground, trying to maintain a neutral facial expression.

After a moment of languid deliberation, she reaches out a hand, and he struggles to keep from gasping in shock.

He has the surreal sensation that something is being pulled right out of his head; silky strands of a golden substance begin to cloud the air in front of him, forming themselves into familiar images. Memories.

The gathering around them begin to murmur amongst themselves; Jace watches himself burst through the doors of Institute disguised as Clary, watches as he’s marched into Aldertree’s office to face a triumphant Valentine and a barely conscious Simon.

“God, I look _awful.”_ Simon mutters.

“Yeah,” Jace replies fervently. He can’t take his eyes off the memory playing out in front of everyone like a reel of film. He watches as he cuts his wrist and holds it to Simon’s mouth, whispering, low and urgent. “I thought…”

When memory-Simon finally sinks his teeth into Jace’s wrist, Jace rubs subconsciously at the healed wound, his thumb brushing over the faint bite marks. The look on Clary’s face ( _your face_ , his subconscious reminds himself unhelpfully) is enrapture itself; a single tear rolls down her cheek. Simon’s grip tightens, and when Valentine’s henchmen wrestle him away he hisses, fangs sharp and deadly.

When Clary slumps back into the couch, she flickers and the glamour falls away to reveal Jace, panting heavily, totally spent.

It’s as if everybody in the clearing has been holding their breath. As one, the Seelie Court exhales, sudden understanding writ across every one of their strange features.

Jace barely notices. He’s too busy watching. Memory-Simon stares in disbelief at memory-Jace; they’re both breathing heavily, sharing a gaze both heated and oddly fervent.

After that, the memories dissolve and reform in quick succession; Dot tells them what she overheard in a low, thready voice, Valentine tells Jace about his experiments, the prophecy that Magnus explained, the way he can’t look Jace in the eye as he says the words: _“...demonic Morgenstern…”_

_“Enough,”_ the Queen waves a hand, and the visions scatter like gold dust on the wind. _“This young one speaks the truth,”_ she nods at Simon, something like a smile lighting on her features before severity sharpens them once more. _“The Shadowhunter’s actions were foolish and misguided, but he comes in good faith to make amends.”_

Jace waits, sensing that it might be better not to interrupt. The Queen seems to have warmed to Simon but that doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things.

_“The bargain is this.”_ She smoothes her shimmering skirts down as she speaks. Jace notes with some surprise that she’s wearing battered leather combat boots underneath. _“This Court will bear witness to your innocence, Jace Wayland. My footsoldiers will corroborate your account of these events, and the Downworld will come to understand you wish them no further harm.”_

Jace lowers his head, murmuring his thanks. It’s better than he could have hoped for. He only hopes that the prince will be one he can easily pay.

She continues: _“In return, you will work to reform the Accords on two counts. You will see to it that all accounts relating to Downworlder affairs -- be they historical, biological or magical -- that are kept in Institute archives are writ by Downworlders, and that false Shadowhunter accounts are destroyed. You will represent us at trial, since this is a luxury afforded only to the Nephilim. You will hold Shadowhunters fully responsible for slaughtering Downworlders on their own territory.”_

He’s silent for a few moments. She merely looks at him, waiting for his answer.

On the surface, it seems… reasonable. Law and legislation are hardly his areas of expertise, but nothing the Queen has proposed is _impossible._ With enough dedication and time, he should be fine. Improve Downworlder lives; that seems reasonably straightforward.

_Would Magnus agree to this?_ Jace wonders. He glances at Simon, who shrugs. Ok, well. He’d asked for this. He has to be the one to decide whether or not to sign the contract.

“I accept these terms.” He wishes he’d been allowed to bring a Seraph blade with him. It feels like he ought to kneel and offer one to the Queen to pledge his loyalty, or something. He kneels anyway, bowing his head.

_“The deal is struck.”_ Her voice seems to be coming from everywhere at once. Around them, the onlookers whisper excitedly to each other; some of them strike their spears several times against the ground. _“You have one week to complete your task, Jace Wayland. On the seventh day, at dawn, I will find you. Do not disappoint me.”_

And there it is. The sting in the tail. He’d known to expect something like this, but he can feel his face draining of colour anyway. _One week._

Beside him Simon looks like he’s on the verge of an explosion; he’s scowling, the slight edge of one fang threatening to make an appearance. Jace hurriedly steps in front of him and bows once more, just for good measure.

“I thank you for your generosity, your Majesty. We must be… on our way, now.”

The Queen only watches them with badly concealed amusement as Jace grabs Simon’s arm and starts ushering him towards the forest path they’d used earlier. At the sound of her low, dry voice, they both freeze.

_“A Daylighter is a dangerous thing to carry around, Jace Wayland. Perhaps the young one would like to stay here a while and enjoy some of our nectar.”_

Jace glances at Simon with alarm, receiving a matching frightened look in turn. Simon turns back, looking a little helpless.

“Ah -- thank you, so much. What a kind offer! I’d love to, but I’m actually staying at -- at the Institute right now. So. I’m ok.” Simon pokes at a nearby mushroom with his foot, smiling nervously. “Thank you,” he adds once more, apparently for good measure.

_“So polite,”_ the Queen sounds almost warm. _“Take heed, fledgeling. The sunlight might not burn you, but now you must beware of your own kind. Trust in the advice of your Clan Leader; however you gained this ability, others must believe it to be a unique circumstance.”_

Simon stammers out his thanks before Jace navigates them through to the edge of the glade. They start back on the path in a tense silence. Jace is lost in thought; his ears are ringing with the Queen’s voice, and the reality of the bargain he’s made has settled deep into his bone marrow.

_You have one week to complete your task._

“Ow!” Simon suddenly hisses, slapping a hand onto his neck. “I think something just bit me!”

He’s about to peel back Simon’s hand to take a better look when a sharp pinprick sends a stabbing pain into his shoulder. “Argh, what the hell is that?”

They’re almost at the portal. Jace thinks quickly; whatever just happened, they’re much better off dealing with it in their own realm.

“Just get back through the door. The sooner we’re out of here the better.”

  


\--

  


By the time they’ve made it back through the portal into the bright, disorientating greenery of Central Park, Simon is feeling distinctly strange. It’s almost like being intoxicated or something. Every sound and colour feels velvety and dim, a branch brushes against his arm, sending little shivers all the way through him.

“Nectar of the Faerie realm,” Jace says. He is also looking distinctly worse for wear; his usually impassive face is a little flushed, pupils blown out. “They must’ve shot us with darts.”

“I feel…” if Simon could still blush, he’s certain he would be glowing red right now. “Um.”

“We need to get back to the Institute,” Jace says through gritted teeth. “Right -- now.” He starts to pull Simon along mindlessly, hand fisted in the cuff of his jacket. Simon whines at the contact, wanting desperately to be alone so that he can deal with whatever the hell this is in peace --

All around them, the Mundanes continue to jog, cycle and rollerblade along the leafy avenue, apparently oblivious to the sight of two guys stumbling deliriously down the middle of the path. Then again, it _is_ New York. Simon can’t tell if Jace’s glamour is working or not, but he’s losing the presence of mind to actually care. He’s become oddly fixated on the sensation of Jace’s thumb brushing against the base of his wrist.

At that moment Jace answers his unspoken question by yanking up his own sleeve and grabbing Simon’s hand, pulling his stele out to press it against his invisibility rune. His eyes are slightly unfocused, and his hand shakes as the rune glows.

Whatever’s happening to them, it’s intensifying at a relentless pace. Simon blinks down at their clasped hands, gazing up at Jace. Who… suddenly seems to be standing very close. Cool. Ok. Not a problem. He’s fine, it’s all good.

He realises that he’s staring distractedly at the brown shard cutting across one of Jace’s pale blue eyes. At his hair, shining gold against the green leaves. The square line of his jaw. The stubble around his full, red mouth.

“Your eyes are different colours,” he says dumbly, watching Jace swallow. His hand is gripping Simon’s very tightly. “It’s fine, it’s not weird or anything. You probably know about it already, I mean, they’re _your_ eyes.” He licks his lips. “They’re -- they’re good. It’s working, the eye thing. The _whole_ thing.” The words stumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. Oh, oh God. Why, for once in his life, can’t he just _shut up?_

When Jace speaks, his voice comes out roughly, in a low, deep timbre. “Simon, use your vampire speed. Get out of here.”

They’ve come to a complete standstill next to an ancient looking ivy covered wooden hut, barely bigger than a garden shed. Jace stands on his toes, stretching up to peer into the tiny, solitary window. Without fully understanding why Simon leans into his neck and breathes in, the sweet, heady smell of Shadowhunter blood, of _Jace_ , making his heart sing.

“Fuck.” Jace breathes, turning until their noses brush, until they’re breathing the same air. “ _Fuck,_ ” his free hand is at Simon’s chin, his thumb lightly tracing his open mouth.

There’s nothing for it; unless Jace touches him in the next five seconds, he’s gonna die. “Please,” Simon hears himself mumble, fingers twining themselves into the fabric of Jace’s t-shirt. “ _Please,_ Jace, I don’t understand --”

Whether it was sound of Simon’s voice, his grip on Jace’s shirt, or the sheer headiness of the feeling building between them, it’s like a thread has snapped. Jace spins them, shoves Simon up against the door of the hut and kisses him, easy as breathing.

Simon exhales, trembling with the relief of it, one hand fisted into the collar of Jace’s jacket, the other pushing up into his hair, grasping it tight, urging Jace closer.

The door they’re pressed against chooses that moment to give way; they stumble through it, Jace kicking it closed behind them. He looks wild and beautiful in the dim light, rounding on Simon and walking him backwards until his back hits the wall opposite.

He kisses into Jace’s open mouth, shuddering at the way Jace drives a thigh in between Simon’s and hitches Simon’s leg up around his hips. He’s insensate, mouthing at Jace’s neck, growling at the noise he makes when Simon’s fangs drag along his skin. He tugs at the neck of Jace’s t-shirt, his head cracking against the wall as Jace grinds hard against him.

Simon makes a broken noise, mouth open against Jace’s neck.

Jace gets his hands under Simon’s chin, tilting his face up, kissing him until it’s too much and too close and Simon’s shuddering under his mouth, hips pushing back against him. He feels the drag of stubble against his cheek, the softness of Jace’s mouth against his ear; it’s _way_ too soon, but Jace’s fingers are sliding up under his shirt, palm spread wide against his chest. Simon comes a low moan, eyes closed, head falling back against the wall. Jace buries his face in Simon’s shoulder and follows soon after.  

It can’t have taken more than two minutes from start to finish.    

Simon’s head feels clearer already. He blinks a couple of times; the world appears to have righted itself again.

For several agonisingly long seconds neither of them say anything. Jace very slowly untangles himself and falls back a couple of paces. Simon watches him pick his way through the debris littering the floor, leaning heavily on the wall beside him. His own legs feel significantly wobbly.

“What just happened?” He’s still breathing heavily. Logically, he knows it’s pointless, but he can’t seem to quell the instinct. His brain seems to have turned to mush.

“Seelies,” Jace grits out. For some reason, he seems angry with himself more than anything. “Have a fucked up sense of humor.”

There’s an uncertain pause. Jace refuses to meet Simon’s eye, staring stubbornly at the floor until their breathing returns to a normal pace.

“We never mention this again, understand?” Jace says eventually, pushing off from the wall and heading over to the door, yanking it open to let the sunlight in. “It stays between us.”

He finally looks Simon directly in the eye, waiting until Simon gives him a hesitant nod. “Uh. Yeah. Sure. Never happened.”

Jace doesn’t do so much as nod back. He slips through the doorway before Simon can say anything else, disappearing back out into the park. By the time Simon has gathered together enough of his senses to follow suit, he’s long gone.

  


\--

 

Space. That’s what Jace needs, away from everything and _everyone,_ especially stupid vampires who insist on pushing their way into people’s lives and -- and _rearranging_ everything, turning things on their heads until nobody knows what the hell’s going on anymore.

He’s still fuming when he strides through the doors of the Institute. He catches sight of Clary at the desk, long red hair falling as she stoops to examine a complex looking map laid out in front of her. Jace comes to a sudden decision. Yes, Clary needs to know about what Valentine told him. Right now.  

“Hey,” Jace wanders over, resting a hand on the table and staring at her intently. “Can we talk?”

She glances up at him and smiles distractedly. “Sure,” she picks up a sheaf of notes, leafing through them and frowning. “What’s up?”

He glances around. The room is mostly empty, but he’s not sure it’s fair to reveal crucial, personal information in such a public place. “Not here. My room, ok? Ten minutes.”

  


\--

  


Simon can’t seem to shut his brain up.

Which is, on the face of it, actually pretty normal. He can’t stop mulling things over when he’s meant to be asleep on an average day, and _nothing_ about today has been average. Not to mention the fact that he’s having difficulty readjusting his internal clock to sleep through the night again, _that’s_ proving to be easier said than done.

He sighs, punching his pillow a couple of times and trying to settle. Clary had been kind of weird that evening, just to compound on everything else. There had been something strangely distant in the way she’d said goodnight to him. He’s trying not to pay any mind to it; after all, he can really only worry about so many things at a time before he spontaneously combusts.

Ever since he got back, every part of his consciousness is ruminating endlessly on what happened after they left the Seelie Court. He knows that they were drugged, put under some kind of weird faerie trance, that nothing else could’ve made them… _act_ the way they had.

Simon rolls over, tucking his blankets around him tightly. It doesn’t matter. It’s equivalent to the blood sucking, just a temporary, crazy, magical, biological side effect. Neither of them feel that way about each other, so it doesn’t matter.

Does he find Jace attractive? Objectively, yes. He has eyes, and a healthy appreciation for attractive people of all genders.

But Jace had been entirely horrified by the whole thing, which clearly points to the fact that Jace does not see Simon in that way _at all_. Jace tolerates him. Sure, sometimes he even seems kind of fond of him, but the way he’d looked at Simon, after, the way his voice had sounded…

Besides, Simon thinks, frowning. It’s a moot point. He’s with Clary. He’s with Clary, and they’re happy. And sure, it’s not as intense and burning as he thought it might be, once upon a time. It’s not a crushing, sweeping passion. But it’s fine. It’s good.

He drifts off into an uneasy sleep, telling himself that it was all just chemicals and trying not to think about how hungrily Jace had kissed him.

  


\--

  


For the first time since the night the Soul Sword went missing Jace sleeps deeply and peacefully.

He’s drifting, soft and warm, face pressed into his pillow. He can feel the warmth of the sun on the back of his head, but he doesn’t care. He’s not getting up. He’s going to stay here for as long as humanly possible, avoiding every problem, paying no mind to the total mess that was the day before --

A volley of knocking rudely interrupts his languid reverie. Someone is yelling through the door; the excitable volume and the knocking combine in Jace’s half-unconscious state,  making him idly wonder if a golden retriever is attempting to break into his room.

“Jace! Get up, it’s Day One! Time to go! _Jace!_ ”

Jace lifts his head off the pillow, glaring blearily in the direction of the door. “Fuck off!”

The door opens a crack; he glowers at Simon’s head as it pokes through the gap, all curly, sleep rumpled hair and wide eyes. He grins, apparently unperturbed by Jace’s expression. “We’ve got research to do! C’mon, get up!”

As glaring seems to have absolutely no effect, Jace half heartedly chucks a pillow in Simon’s general direction. Grumbling to himself, he slides out of bed. He has no idea how Simon’s acting like nothing out of the ordinary happened yesterday. Sure, Jace _told_ him never to mention it again, but he wasn’t actually expecting Simon to have that capacity. The guy is usually incredibly easy to read, yet now he’s determinedly making eye contact like everything’s totally fine, never been more normal --

Jace glances down at his own bare chest. Oh, ok. He should put a shirt on.

“Ok, I’m up,” he blinks, running a hand through his hair. Simon nods, eyes fixed on his face. It’s cool. Everything’s fine. “If you still wanna help, I’ll be in the library in ten minutes.”

_Fuck_ , Jace is wishing that Simon would act at least a little awkward now. In what kind of parallel universe is _he_ the one who doesn’t know what to say? It’s like what went down yesterday afternoon never even happened.

“Sure.” Simon nods, smiling again.

Except it _did_ happen, Jace thinks as he watches him walk away. It definitely happened. He flexes a hand, remembering how Simon’s mouth felt under his fingertips.

Yep, he thinks, resigned. He’s definitely losing it.

  


\--

 

“Wow.” Simon says. He ducks his head as he and Jace pass a group of Institute workers who all turn to look at them as they pass by. Their faces are stony. “I thought people were getting used to me hanging around here. I guess not.”

“It’s not you,” Jace mutters. They’re at the doorway to the library; he leads them through, winding past the rows of bookshelves and heading for the study carrells at the back where he knows they will be least likely to be disturbed. “The night we lost the Soul Sword, we lost the Downworlders’ trust. All that stuff that went down? In everyone’s minds, I’m the catalyst.”

And they’re right. None of them were tricked by Valentine, none of them touched the  Sword. None of them watched almost a hundred Downworlders die as a result.

“ _What?_ ” Simon hisses. “You were manipulated -- I can’t believe… so they’re just gonna punish you for trying to save the Downworld?”

Jace’s mouth twists at Simon’s indignation on his behalf. “You don’t know these people.”

They’ve come upon a likely looking spot. He’s not exactly an expert on the library, but he’s wandered around here enough times to find Izzy when she’s doing research and try to drag her outside, make her talk about something other than chemical compounds. This place is one of her favourites; a table pushed up against a large stained glass window, surrounded by several carved benches with soft cushions on them.

“No, I don’t.” Simon murmurs. “I barely know anything. So,” he drops the messenger bag he’d brought with him onto a nearby bench; _nerd_ , Jace thinks fondly. “Where do we begin?”

  


\--

  


“There will be a trial.” Jace says. He leads Simon through a dimly lit aisle, pausing every so often to examine the titles of the volumes lining the shelves. Simon peers at them too; he sneezes as Jace pulls out a heavy looking tome, sending dust flying everywhere. “If I’m gonna have any chance of convincing the Clave to modify the Accords, we need to study up. Simon,” he glances over his shoulder; Simon looks up from his examination of a book entitled _Night Children: An Abridged History._ “C’mon. Grab as many books about Downworlders as you can. History, biology, everything.”

“Do Shadowhunters even go to school?” Simon wonders out loud, grabbing a couple of likely looking volumes about lycanthropy as they pass. “Like, can you guys do math, or is that not part of the syllabus?”

Whether or not Jace heard him, he doesn’t get a response. Ok, no, he did; Simon struggles not to laugh at the sight of him, books piled up right to his chin, glaring.     
  
“I know how to fight demons.” He brushes past Simon, whose shoulders are now shaking with suppressed laughter at the look on his face. “If I ever need an expert on the mystical secrets of accountancy I’ll let you know.”

“Do you know how money works?” Simon pipes up, jogging to catch up with him, not bothering to hide his grin when Jace swats at him. “It’s a fair question!”

“Shut up.” The gentleness of Jace’s tone belies his words completely.  

They stand there for a moment, right at the edge of the shelves. Their table is already stacked with files; Jace had managed to procure some of Izzy’s research, and Lydia had given him access to the Restricted Archive after threatening to do unspeakable things to his Seraph blades if anything got lost or damaged. There’s a beam of light cutting down through the window; Jace is standing right in it. His hair shines brightly; Simon can see individual strands of his bangs falling, catching the light. His expression is soft and almost affectionate; there’s small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

He can’t remember the last time he saw Jace smile like that.

It becomes a secret mission of Simon’s as the day wears on and the light filtering through the window slowly begins to fade. He scans through book after book, searching for historical cases Jace can use to strengthen his argument, occasionally reading out excerpts from passages Simon thinks he might find funny.

Sometimes he’ll get a bright grin for his troubles. The expression softens his whole face, lightens his burdened expression. At first Jace tries to hide it, but by the afternoon he actually laughs out loud a few times, eyes wide with mirth.

Simon decides it’s a good look on him, laughter. It makes him seem younger, somehow, more real. He sometimes looks a bit surprised, like he’s not really used to finding things funny just for the sake of it, just to be close with someone else for a moment.

“Do you like it?”

He’s watching Jace stacking up their books into a neat pile in preparation for tomorrow. The sky is dark outside, the stained glass glinting in bottle greens and deep blues against the blackness.

Jace rubs at the back of his neck, looking absent. “What?”

Simon waves a vague hand. “Shadow... hunting.”

“Sure I do,” Jace fixes him with a smile. “I know it must seem odd, but we’re born to this. I didn’t grow up in the Mundane world,” he gives Simon a friendly nudge as he passes him. “Different problems there, I imagine.”

“Yeah,” Simon mirrors his sardonic smile. “You could say that.”

“I seem to remember something about a Kirk Duplesse.” Jace’s tone is teasing; Simon groans. “Total jerk with the square jaw?”

“Can’t believe you remember that.” He shoulders his messenger bag and turns away, shaking his head. “You’re not… I mean. I thought -- but you’re not. A total jerk. Like him, I mean.”

“I’ll take that.” Jace says wryly, following him down the hallway. All the overhead lights have been long since extinguished; Simon half expects him to pull out a lantern or something, he’s getting that kind of vibe. “And, for what it’s worth, if we’d gone to highschool together… I’d do all my own homework.”

“I changed my mind.” Simon says, wandering down the empty corridor towards his room. “Congratulations. You are, unequivocally, the worst.”  
  
Jace gives him a mocking bow. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Simon dutifully ignores the quiet thrill he feels at the sound of the hopefulness in Jace’s voice. “Same time tomorrow.”

  


\--

  


They develop a weird kind of routine. After that first day, Simon always appears in the library at around ten o’clock, carrying a coffee for Jace and a cup of blood for himself (it may or may not have a straw in it; to his credit, Jace reacts with the minimum of mockery).

Jace is always there before him. Simon always finds him sat at their table in the corner, elbow deep in sheaves of crumbling documents. Every time Simon appears, he smiles, like he’s surprised he’s bothered to show up.

By Day Three, they’ve developed a comfortable working silence. Simon may usually find it difficult to concentrate on one thing at a time, but he’s in his element here; all of his studious intensity focused on the task in front of them.

This is why, when Jace speaks after a near two hour span of silent study, he’s so surprised he almost drops his pen.

“It isn’t true.” Jace’s voice is quiet but steady.

Simon blinks. Clearly, he’s missed something. “What isn’t true?”

“What Aldertree said, when he gave me the assignment.” Jace looks up at him. There’s a strange intensity about his eyes, like it’s important to him that Simon understands. “That I should do this for myself, to fix my reputation. I’m not… this isn’t some kind of _political_ strategy for me. I care.”

“I know,” Simon says, surprised. “I know that.”

He knows _Jace_ , he thinks, horrified with himself. He really does.

“Anyway. Doesn’t matter.” He watches as Jace runs a hand through his hair. He does that a lot, Simon notices, when he’s nervous. “At this point, I’m damned if I do, I’m damned if I don’t.”

“You think you’re damned?” Simon whispers. It doesn’t feel like a statement one would make lightly in this place, where angelic carvings and flickering devotional candles loom down at you from every alcove.

Jace doesn’t reply but the look on his face is answer enough.

Simon fights the instinct to reach out and grab his wrist. _It’s not your fault_. He can’t, though; as ever, he only has his words.

He fiddles with a pen and frowns, chest feeling strangely hollow. He doesn’t want to know the answer, but he has, _has_ to ask.

“Do you think _I’m_ damned?”

“What?” Jace’s head snaps up. “No! Of course you’re not!”

Simon feels himself start to smile. “Most people would tell you that damnation is the _definition_ of being a vampire.”

“Most people are idiots,” Jace growls. He’s frowning now, staring down at the parchment in front of him. “You’re not… no. Not you. Don’t ever think that.”

Simon watches as he bites his lip, like he’s trying to stop himself from saying other things. He’s secretly warmed by the idea that Jace, for some reason, seems to consider him too _pure_ to be damned, but he forces himself to focus.

“So, if I, a literal Child of the Night -- uh -- and Day now, I guess --” Simon shakes his head with confusion. “Look, what I’m trying to say is... people screw up. I’m pretty sure God doesn’t throw people into hell for it, especially if they’re trying to fix things.” He pauses and tries to soften his voice. Jace looks at him, oddly vulnerable. “Especially if they have pure angel blood.”

“That just means I have more responsibility than other people. Even other Shadowhunters.” Jace replies, but he doesn’t sound as sure of himself. “ _Raziel_ , Simon. You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Yep,” Simon says cheerfully. “My teachers told me my mouth must be hot from running all the time.”

Jace’s gaze drops, unhelpfully, right onto Simon’s mouth. _God._ Bad word choice.

“Better get back to it.” He knows that it's weak and transparent even as he says the words.

Nevertheless, Jace nods. His gaze falls back to his notes, and silence reigns once more.

  


\--

  


By the time Jace feels like he’s put off the final element of the plan for as long as he possibly can, it’s Day Five. The sun sinks low in the sky as he heads over to Magnus’s penthouse, the windows of the buildings reflecting the fiery orange glow.

Two days, Jace thinks.  

This time, the door opens to reveal a much more alert looking Magnus. Jace’s request is met with a warm acceptance; by the time he’s been installed on the comfortable, low couch in the living area and Magnus has drifted out to find them some refreshments, Alec has appeared in a nearby doorway, hands in his pockets, grinning.

“Hey, bro.”

Jace grins back at him ruefully. “Sorry to keep busting in like this. I promise that it’s the last time. Probably.”

“I’ve been worried,” Alec slumps down onto the sofa next to him, resting his socked feet on the coffee table. “Magnus told me Simon’s been helping you prepare for this trial thing, and honestly? Didn’t make me feel any better.”

Jace laughs. The events of the past week have been so insane he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed Alec, ever the voice of calm rationality in the eye of the storm. “You didn’t hear me say this, but he’s actually been pretty great.”

Alec smiles; he falls silent for a few minutes, but that’s hardly unusual. It’s comfortable, familiar. Jace smiles softly, watching the city lights glimmering through the window.

“Wow.” Alec says eventually, turning to catch his eye. “You’re actually friends with your ex-girlfriend's boyfriend.”

Jace snorts. “We’re not -- _friends._ It’s not like that.”

“Really.” Alec levels him with a deadpan expression. “It’s not like you’ve been working together,” he frowns, beginning to list off with his fingers. “It’s not like you’re spending time together, or facing down the Seelie Queen together... nah. You’re right, sounds like just… two, unrelated people. Definitely not _friends_. Perish the thought.”

“Shut up,” Jace mumbles, giving him a gentle shove. “It’s -- he thinks he owes me, ok?”

“Ok,” Alec grins crookedly. “I’m sure when all this is over, you’ll go back to barely being able to stand the sight of each other. Seems reasonable.”

“Exactly.” The thought sends a rush of dejection through him. Jace shakes it off impatiently, shrugging and staring down at the sofa cushion beside his knee. There’s a smattering of long white cat hairs on it. He starts picking them off one by one.  

Alec doesn’t push any further, but he nudges their shoulders together, the warmth and solidity of him comforting as ever. Part of him is aching to get back to the Institute, but another part of him wants to stay right here, where he doesn’t have to confront any of it. Where he can intrude on Magnus and Alec’s hospitality a little while longer. Where it’s safe.

  


\--

  


Jace’s thoughts are as swirling and unsettled as ever by the time he returns to the Institute. He blames Alec entirely; since when did _Alec_ make observations about people? He doesn’t know anything.

_Parabatai,_ his subconscious whispers unhelpfully. _Emotionally bonded._

He tells his subconscious to fuck off, yanking open the front doors without ceremony and hurrying through the Institute, making a beeline for the library. A few people are still awake; several glance up at him with interest as he passes, probably wondering what he’s managed to screw up this time.

The library is still and silent as he slips down the aisles, heading toward their corner. It’s late; he’s prepared for the possibility that Simon’s already gone to bed, but there’s lamp still glowing, visible through the gaps in the bookshelves.

When he rounds the corner and sees the now familiar dark head bent over a mass of notes, he can’t seem to suppress a smile.

“Hey.”

Simon looks up. He doesn’t smile back. Something’s wrong; his eyes are strange and hollow, caught up with some internal anxiety. Jace has the sense that if he were still human, they’d be red rimmed.

“How did it go with Magnus?”

“Good,” Jace says, trying not to sound concerned. “He agreed to represent me.”

Simon nods briefly, gaze returning to his notes. “Good.”

Jace stares at him, his sense of _wrongness_ building until it’s almost unbearable. A brief, perfunctory, unsmiling exchange; it isn’t _them._ It’s never been them, even back when they’d professed to dislike the others’ very presence.

It’s not like that now. If he’s being honest with himself, it hasn’t been like that for a long time.

He swallows. _Raziel, please. Let anyone else do this. Clary, Izzy, anyone. I’m begging you. I’m no good at it._

“Everything ok?”

“Fine,” Simon uncaps a highlighter, circling a few paragraphs of the printout he’s studying intently. “Clary broke up with me.”

Jace goes cold. He’s silent for a few moments, but Simon doesn’t glance up.

“What?” He eventually manages to whisper. “Why?”

“She told me she loved me, but that it wasn’t like that,” Simon’s voice breaks a little. “That… that it hadn’t ever been like that. She said she was so sorry.”

Jace takes a step forward, hating how quiet and halting he sounds. He knows he shouldn’t interrupt but he can’t help it. “Simon --”

“She said Valentine told you that she wasn’t your sister,” he draws a shuddering breath; the look he fixes Jace with is terrible, the anger undercut with a fragile, bewildered hurt. “Quite a few days ago. She thought it was best to end things between us sooner rather than later.”

Jace tries again, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “Simon…”

“No.” Simon shuts the file full of research that they’d been compiling with a snap. “It’s fine. I get it, you got what you wanted.”

“It’s not like that!” Jace bursts out. So much for diplomacy, he thinks, throwing caution to the wind. “I thought she was my _sister_ for _weeks_ , you think I can just turn around and, what, _date_ her?” He’s desperate to make Simon understand. “I think of her as a sister now! That’s not gonna change!”

As he says the words, he realises with a faint sense of surprise that they’re actually true.

He has a couple of seconds to consider that maybe shouting isn’t the best way to approach this, but it’s too late; Simon stands up, his eyes blazing.

“That’s such bullshit, Jace,” his usual warm intensity has been replaced by something clipped and cold and _awful._ “I knew you couldn’t wait to get me out of the way, that you didn’t think I was good enough --” he falters. “But _lying_? Pretending to be my friend?”

It’s Jace’s turn to falter. “It’s not… I _didn’t_ \--”

“You better save the sincerity for Clary.” Simon stacks all his -- _their_ \-- file folders into one messy heap and shoves them at Jace, refusing to meet his eye. “You two have my blessing.”

Jace doesn’t have time to reply. He gets one more look at Simon’s terrible, soul crushing expression, and then in an unhelpful flash of vampiric super speed... he’s gone.

If the silence of the library hadn’t felt heavy and oppressive enough before, it certainly does now. Jace drops the folders onto the table, sinks into the nearest chair and puts his head in his hands.

  


\--

  


On one hand Simon is grateful to Aldertree for letting him stay at the Institute; on the other, it makes it kind of awkward when he leaves his room, freshly showered and dressed in his smartest courtroom clothes (i.e a jacket Raphael never asked him to give back, a shirt and tie, jeans, and his least battered pair of converse), only to walk out into a gathering full of people he’s _really_ not speaking to right now.

Clary keeps trying to catch his eye from where she’s sat beside Izzy. She looks deeply remorseful; even her bright hair looks somehow dim and lifeless. Izzy has a hand on her arm; she’s speaking to her in a low, soothing voice.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but her and Jace don’t exactly look like they’re clamouring to get together.

Both of them look pretty awful, actually. From the front bench, Jace’s face is drawn and tired. At the sight of him, Simon feels a stab of something undefinable.

It could just be hunger pangs. Like an idiot, he’d left it kind of late, _again_ , to restock his blood supply. He doubts Raphael will appreciate a phone call right now; he’s going to have to go raid the ER after this.

He drops into a seat at random and tries to feel reassured when Magnus detaches himself from Alec’s side and glides over to the front bench, briefcase in tow.

Simon has a strong feeling that, this time, there will be no opportunity for glitter.

“I call this Court to order.” Justice Herondale steps up onto the platform, raising her hands. “So commences the trial of Jace Wayland versus the Clave, concerning the amendment of the Accords on two counts pertaining to Downworlder entitlements.” She pauses, gazing sternly down at the onlookers. “Before we begin, I would like to express my concern about a troubling bias I see developing before my eyes. I believe this to be a clear result of inappropriate relationships developing between Shadowhunters and Downworlders.” Her eyes linger on Magnus and Alec; she glances at Simon for a few seconds before her eyes come to rest on Jace. He stares back; his expression is remote but his eyes are hard and defiant. “That is all. May the proceedings begin.”

  


\--

  


They won.

They won, and Simon feels like a total fucking wreck. He hurries down the sidewalk, shivering automatically at the sight of the misting breath of the Mundanes around him, he isn’t really paying attention to any of it. Not the Mundanes, not the taxicabs rushing past, not the darkness of the midnight sky over the lit up skyscrapers. The awful look on Jace’s face is replaying itself over and over in his head, the way he kept trying over and over to meet Simon’s eye.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, ducking his head. It’s fine.

There’s nothing mixed up about any of this; it’s really very straightforward. Jace will be with Clary, and everything will be fine.

He’s fine with that.

Simon’s can’t stop thinking about one moment in particular, right at the end of the trial when he’d turned to leave the Institute. His hand had been resting on the doorknob, and something had made him turn around to search for the blond head in the midst of the gathering. He’d caught sight of Jace as he moved through the crowd, watching as he ignored Alec’s hand on his shoulder and brushed past Izzy and Clary, his eyes fixed on Simon.

Simon had left soon after that. Whatever Jace wants to say to him, it can wait.  

He’s so caught up he barely notices where he’s going; the neon glow of the ER looms ahead of him, bright and bustling with people. It’s a Saturday night, prime time for accidents and bar fights. Simon automatically doubles back and slips down the small alleyway off to the side; he’s going to do his usual trick, sneaking in through the delivery entrance using his super speed. Raphael had told him to steer clear of the O Neg, especially on nights like this where triage patients had way more need of it than thirsty vampires. Whatever, A Positive is fine, he can deal with it --

His back hits the wall before he realises what’s going on. Dazed, he registers the knife as it presses against his throat with unnatural speed. The whole thing can’t have taken more than three seconds. He curses himself for his stupidity and lifts his head to stare into his assailant's desperate, shadowed eyes.

“ _Daylighter,_ ” it’s hissed into his face; Simon struggles, turning away and looking desperately out of the mouth of the alley, into the main street. It’s pointless, hopeless, he’s _alone_ \-- “We didn’t expect to find _you_ walking the streets at night. It’s like you _want_ this.”

“No -- I really don’t, please --” Simon moans in pain when the tip of the knife finds his jugular, eyes screwed shut. This can’t be happening, not _again_.  

“Hold him.” The ringleader digs into his coat pocket, drawing out some kind of medical looking siphon. A couple of other vamps grab onto his forearms, their grip like stone. He hasn’t fed in a while, so he’s already feeling weak; there’s no way he can take on all three of them and win.

He tries not to think about the siphon as it finds its way to his neck. The vampire holding it is murmuring softly, face in shadow; Simon tries to concentrate on the words as his blood drains away in a fruitless attempt to stay conscious.

“...unfortunate, he’s newly turned. Santiago won’t be happy when he finds out. We’ll have to make ourselves scarce for a few decades, but what a prize. They say that touching sunlight is a gift bestowed only upon the worthy...”

Simon’s eyelids flutter, his head lolling back against the wall. He’s too weak to carry on struggling.

Maybe this is for the best. Clary can be with Jace guilt free; there won’t be anyone hanging around making everyone feel uncomfortable. He’ll be out of Jace’s life, and this weird, formless thing between them will die along with him.

He realises dimly that the grip on his arms has loosened, as if his assailants have been distracted by something. Through half closed eyes he registers a the newcomer to their little group. The figure stands silhouetted in the entrance of the alleyway, wielding a Seraph blade.

“Yeah, the _worthy_.” The blade flashes, caught in the light, expertly flipped in one gloved hand. “Get away from him. Now.”

The fight is short; Simon’s attackers are dispatched efficiently and bloodlessly. The hilt of the blade impacts with one vamp’s ribs with a sickening crack; another ends up with a broken neck. They lie motionless as the figure slowly advances on the ringleader, looming and predatory. His hair catches the light of a nearby streetlamp, glinting gold.

“No...” Simon’s fingers reach out, brushing lightly against one combat boot; he doesn’t have the energy for anything else. “Jace, no. Don’t kill him, don’t…”

Jace stares at him for a fraction of a second with wild eyes, and then he slams the hilt of the sword into his assailant's face. The vampire slides down the brick wall, knocked unconscious. Blood from the siphon pump spills everywhere. It spreads quickly, forming a dark pool at their feet. It must be the state he’s in, but Simon could swear that it only stays there for a few moments, glimmering, before evaporating away into nothing.

He blinks fuzzily when he feels Jace’s arms slide under him and pick him up. Simon smiles; his mouth feels numb. “You followed me.”

“Shut up. You need to save your strength.” Jace mutters. He strides over to the delivery door that had been Simon’s original goal in the first place and kicks it open in a way that Simon feels he would appreciate more if he were fully conscious. “I wanted to apologise but you left right after the trial.”

“Don’t.” Simon’s head lolls against Jace’s shoulder. His jacket feels good against his face, warm and solid. “I knew, with Clary… I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. With us, I mean.”

“Right,” Jace moves through the dimly lit corridor like he does this every day. He shoulders open a door and carries Simon into a room lined with industrial standard fridges. “Right. Clary.”

He says her name strangely, like he’d forgotten what their argument had been about in the first place. He lowers Simon onto a stack of packing crates in the corner, surprisingly gentle, and opens the nearest fridge door, pulling out packs of blood at random and throwing them into a pile next to him.

Simon picks one up and reads the blood type hazily before tearing open the packet and downing it, too thirsty to think about what Jace might think.

“Magnus’s place is closer than the Institute.” Jace pulls out his phone, sending a quick text before crouching down in front of Simon. “I meant what I said,” his throat works; he moves like he’s going to grab Simon’s wrist, hesitates, tugs the empty pack of blood away before replacing it with a fresh one. “Simon, I messed up. I _never_ wanted to make think I didn’t… that we weren’t...” he breaks off and stares down at the floor. His hair falls messily over his face; Simon fights the urge to reach out and push it back into place.  

“You’re an idiot,” Simon murmurs. He licks his lips, letting the half drained blood pack slide to the floor. All of a sudden, all he wants to do is close his eyes. “Don’t have to be so _dramatic_ about it. I like you too.”

He doesn’t register Jace’s response to that, if he has one. He lets his head fall back, sliding into unconsciousness.

 

\--

  


Simon drifts in and out of the darkness for what feels like several hours. He eventually swims up out of an assortment of murky, muddled dreams but feels reluctant to open his eyes when he hears Clary’s soft voice from somewhere beside his head.

“... just want to make sure he’s ok, that’s all.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you want, biscuit.” Magnus. Yes, he thought he’d recognised this extremely comfortable sofa. “Well, it’s late, so I’m going to make hot chocolate… three mugs?”

Simon hears Clary and someone else -- _Alec? --_ murmur their assent, and then the sound of  Magnus’ retreating footfalls over the marble floor.

There’s quite a long silence. Simon is about to stop pretending to be asleep when Clary suddenly speaks.

“He’s great at this.”

“Magnus?” Simon can hear the smile in Alec’s voice. “Yeah. He is.”

“I’m not so great,” Clary whispers. “I really messed everything up. I shouldn’t even… I can’t _believe_ Jace is meeting with the Clave over the Accords when Simon is -- I shouldn’t even be here. He doesn’t want me here.”

“You can’t leave.” Alec says sharply.

Simon waits, but neither of them offer anything else. There’s a rather awkward pause.

When Alec speaks again, his voice is softer. “Jace basically made me swear an oath on our bond that I’d stay here and call him when Simon woke up. I’m not going anywhere, but he needs you.”

“I hurt him.” Clary says, sounding very small. Simon hears her sniff. “Sorry, I’m being stupid.”

“It’s ok.” Alec murmurs.

“I should’ve _told_ him I didn’t… I thought that maybe, over time, it could be different.” She sniffs again; the words start to out faster. “The truth is, I’d never even had a boyfriend before. Then I met Jace, and found out about the Shadow World... It was all so _exciting_ , and he was there, right at the center of it. I’d lost my mom. He said he’d look after me, and he did. I thought that’s what you were meant to feel when you liked a guy, you know? Just -- safe.”

There’s a rustle of something, like Alec is handing her a tissue. Simon is desperate to get up and give her a hug, but something tells him not to interrupt them.

“Clary,” Simon has never heard Alec address her like that before, low and confidential. It’s a tone he usually reserves for Magnus, Izzy and Jace, for the people he’s closest to. “Do you… are you -- um -- _attracted_  to them?”

“I don’t know,” Clary sounds miserable. “It’s not like how I feel when...”

To his credit, Alec doesn’t ask her to finish the thought. Simon remembers the emotional chaos of the poor guy’s aborted wedding, how uncomfortable he had seemed at the time. He feels a sudden rush of gratitude toward Alec just for being here; it might not come naturally, but he’s doing his best.

“Alec,” Simon can picture her bunching up the tissue in her hands, trying to make sense of it all. “How did you know you weren’t -- straight?”

Simon stiffens, but Alec’s response is gentle as ever. “I just knew. It’s not something anyone can decide for you. But I always knew I didn’t feel that way about girls.”

“Ok.” Clary’s voice sounds clearer now; Simon hears her swallow. “I’m starting to think that maybe... I do.”

“It’s ok if you do.” Alec says without hesitation. “You don’t have to explain it right here and now. It’s ok not to know.”

“I know.” Clary replies, before laughing wetly. “I mean -- you know what I mean.”

There’s another beat of silence, but this one feels companionable rather than awkward. When Clary speaks again, she sounds much better.

“Hey, Alec?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Any time.” This time, Simon reckons that Alec’s smile is, for the first time, just for Clary.

“Alexander?” Magnus’ voice calls from somewhere nearby hallway. “Could I borrow you? I need help with... the hot chocolate.”

“Duty calls,” he hears Alec get up, the sound of his joints cracking like he’s been sat here a while. “You gonna be ok?”

“Yeah,” Clary’s voice is a little shaky, but warm. “I think so.”

At the sound of Alec’s footsteps disappearing, Simon decides that now is as good a time as any to pretend to wake up. He shuffles around a little bit, opening his eyes, blinking and grinning sleepily at Clary’s upside down face.

“Have I been out long?” He croaks.

She ruffles his hair a little, giving him a wobbly smile. “I know you were awake, Si.”

“Hey, how come?” Simon bats her hand away and sits up properly, stretching. “I was doing slow breathing and everything!”

“I’ve known you since we were five, I know when you’re faking.” Clary takes a deep breath, looking him in the eye. Her face is a little blotchy but her old look of determination is back. He wants to smile; he’s missed that look. “Simon, I am so sorry.”

“I know. It’s ok.” Simon pulls her into a hug. She’s warm; the smell of her hair is familiar, but it’s not an tug towards her any more, what he feels. It’s not an ache. It’s just comforting. “You’re my best friend, and I’m yours. And that’s never gonna change.”

When they draw apart, he realises that he really means it. He loves Clary, but somewhere down the line, somewhere amongst the unending chaos that now defines their lives, that old, quiet misery of longing has faded away. She’s a person, not some unattainable goddess, and he can see that now.

She’s family. Somehow, they’re exactly where they should be.  

As they break apart, Magnus swans in with a tray of hot chocolate with characteristically perfect timing, which he pours into mugs from a large silver pot. There’s a fourth mug on the tray, Simon notes with amusement, just for him; warm and smelling like cinnamon and B positive. Alec trails behind him. When he sees that Simon is awake, he pulls out his phone and disappears back into the kitchen.

Simon gratefully accepts the mug Magnus hands to him, taking a sip, before frowning. “You knew I was awake too, didn’t you.”   

Magnus glances at Clary. He shrugs elegantly. “Warlock, remember?”

Alec reenters the room, pocketing his phone. “Jace is heading out to meet the Seelie Queen in Central Park at dawn. He says she’s requested that you join them as an intermediary, Magnus.”

  


\--

  


He’s not entirely surprised to find himself in this strange, leafy corner while he waits for the Seelie Queen. He stares up at the large bronze figure as she stares out over the park. Several Mundane children are playing underneath the shade of the giant mushroom at the centre of the sculpture, ducking around it in a game of tag, making faces at the bronze dormouse and the hare wearing a frock coat. It’s strange, the fantastical things that Mundanes come up with to colour their world.

Jace thinks about all the films he’d bought recently. He’d enjoyed all of them, even the bad ones, feeling a little thrill when he finally gets some reference Simon had once made in passing. He thinks about Simon aged nine or ten, wondering if he’d had a toy lightsaber, wondering if he ever used to charge around the house wielding a pretend sword. At the same time, in a very different place, a young Jace was training to fight with a real blade.

He’s so lost in thought that it takes him several minutes to realise that he’s not alone.

A woman stands beside him, gazing at the statue. Her profile is stern, her hair in a long, neat plait. Sticking out from the bottom of her skirt Jace notices a pair of large, heavy combat boots.

“Your Majesty.” He murmurs, because it seems appropriate.

She seems disinclined to respond for a while. They stand together in front of the statue in a peaceable silence. When she speaks, her voice thankfully travels into his ears in the way a normal voice should.   
  
“Jace Wayland.” It’s still low, but there’s less of an edge to it this time. She bows her head gracefully. “You have completed your end of our bargain according to our agreement.”

There’s something about the way she says this that makes Jace very, _very_ glad he succeeded. There’s a twinkle in her eye that suggests she knows exactly how relieved he’s feeling right now.   

Magnus portals in a few paces away. He and the Seelie Queen regard each other cooly for a few moments, before she extends a hand. “Magnus Bane.”

“Majesty.” Magnus presses a kiss to her hand; Jace thinks she looks a little mollified. “The Accords have been amended in the eyes of the Clave. Jace saw to it himself tonight.”

“Most Shadowhunters would not wait to see such laws in writing,” the Queen nods gravely to herself, regarding him. Jace looks at Magnus and tries not to look uncomfortable. “You did more than was asked of you.”

Jace has absolutely no idea what to say to that. He wonders if there’s a way to silently communicate to Magnus that he wants to leave as soon as possible, but he also doesn’t want to be rude. The Queen and Magnus are now both holding disposable cups of coffee, produced from god knows where, which doesn’t help the situation at all.

“Thanks to Jace, I barely had any work to do during the trial.” Magnus whistles, tipping his coffee in Jace’s direction with look that can only be described as _proud_ . “All that _research_.”

Jace is starting to wish he could just crawl into a nearby hole; this is unbearable. “Most of it was Simon, really.”

The Queen actually smiles at that. “Your feelings for him are certainly justified. I have scare met a more courteous vampire.”

At Jace’s bemused expression, Magnus cuts in. He’s got a strange look on his face, like he’s trying to diffuse the situation before it spirals out of control. “Ah, yes. Bit of a rocky start, but they’re good friends now!”

“Friends?” The Queen looks at Jace, and then at Magnus. She raises a delicate eyebrow. “Apologies. From the way you looked at him when you visited my realm, I assumed all that adoration I felt pouring off you was  _his_ doing.”

“ _Simon?_ ” Jace splutters out eventually. “ _No_ \-- I don’t -- no way.” He shakes his head several times. Magnus and the Queen each take a sip of their coffee in spooky unison, regarding him with curiosity. “Nope. It’s _not_ … and besides, he would _never_.” He’s silent for a few minutes, wondering why he’s even _entertaining_ the prospect. It doesn’t make any sense. Besides, it’s not even real to begin with. The Queen made a mistake, so it doesn’t matter. “It’s fine.”

“Well,” Magnus says. “There you have it. A platonic friendship.”

He and the Queen glance at each other, and then begin avidly pretending to examine the statue behind them. Jace barely notices, because it comes with an abrupt, dizzying realisation, as simple and grounding as the gravel beneath his feet.

It’s Simon. He’s in love with Simon.

Blundering, gentle, funny Simon. Mundane, extraordinary Simon. Infuriating, wonderful Simon.

“I have to go,” he hears himself choke. “Right now. Immediately.”

He turns to leave, but Magnus reaches out, pulling him back. “Wait. We portalled here together; I left him by the fountain. He’s a little worse for wear and he _hates_ portalling more than anyone I’ve ever known, but… I had to bring him. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Something passes between them. Jace huffs a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “No. He’s very persistent.”

“So.” Magnus loosens his grip on his arm, face soft as he regards Jace. Behind them, the Queen watches, looking amused. “What are you waiting for?”

Jace doesn’t have an answer for that. He turns, striding down the path through the trees as quickly as his feet will carry him.

  


\--

  


The fountain is cascading, the wingtips of the angel catching and shining in the bright sunlight. Jace gazes up at the statue's outstretched hand and feels light for the first time in a very long time. The park is thriving; people are gathered around the edge of the pool, some making wishes with pennies, others sat dipping their feet in, splashing each other.  

He spots Simon almost immediately. He’s standing with his back to Jace, staring out at the lake and watching the boats drift by across the water. The spray from the fountain rains down all around him like gentle rain; when Jace calls a greeting, he turns.

“Hey.” He smiles. He’s very beautiful, Jace thinks.

Suddenly, he has absolutely no idea what to say. This has never happened to him before; he’s a little disarmed by it. “Hey yourself.”

“So.” To his surprise, Simon seems almost as nervous as he feels. “You’re still alive. I’m still alive.”

“Good observational skills.” Jace says dryly. His heart is racing. It’s never been like this before; he can’t believe that it’s Simon who has this effect on him, yet here they are. “Maybe you should switch careers. Downworlder ambassador to Downworlder _detective_.”

Simon’s smile widens. He steps closer, moving slowly as if he’s still a little unsure of himself. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting to say this.” His hand comes to rest on Jace’s shoulder, and he looks deeply into his eyes. “Jace? Shut up.”

Jace murmurs, "Make me," and it feels like the easiest thing in the world.

Simon tilts his face up, unbothered by the spray of the fountain misting around them and sending patterns of light shimmering through the air. Jace’s hands come up to rest on his face, the touch tentative and gentle.

All of Jace’s trepidation falls away as Simon kisses him, like he’s sure about something, and it feels like it already means a whole lot more than either of them are willing to admit.

It feels like the start.

  


\--

 

_One month later_

 

\--

  


“Ok, everyone! We’re getting into place,” Izzy barrels past them and begins to shoo Jace with her clipboard-free hand until he moves to stand beside a pillar. From somewhere, she’s procured a headset; she looks like she could be heading a covert intelligence operation in one of those James Bond movies. “Places! _Simon!_ ”

“I thought I was the guest of honor or something,” Simon grumbles. He breaks off from the small group of Clan members he’d been conversing with and wanders over to lean disconsolately against Jace’s shoulder. “This isn’t as peaceful as I hoped it might be.”

Jace smirks and presses a kiss into Simon’s hair, twining their fingers together. “Cheer up. Alec confiscated the megaphone from her about an hour ago.”

“Please don’t mention the megaphone.” Clary mutters, appearing at his left. “My left ear still isn’t working properly.”

Isabelle glides past them, and her face momentarily warms at the sight of Clary’s disgruntled expression. She stops in her tracks to kiss her forehead, and then the injured ear in question, grinning as Clary blushes and bats her away.

“Insufferable, all of you.” Alec crosses his arms. “ _All_ the Downworlders are guests of honor, Simon. I’d also like to point out that you can go back to the Dumort whenever you want now that everyone thinks your Daylighter blood is cursed for some reason.”

“I think what Alexander is _trying_ to say is… well. It’s all’s well that ends well!” Magnus adds cheerfully. “It looks great, by the way.”

Jace frowns as Magnus waves a hand to indicate the part of the hall floor that has been ceremonially covered over. “You’re not meant to have seen it yet.”

“Oh. Of course.” Magnus shrugs. “I mean, I’m sure it looks great!”

Jace stares at the floor, thinking about the craftsmanship involved, the weeks of planning, how beautiful it had turned out. The granite slab has been set into the floor beneath their feet, right in the centre of the room; every one of the names of the fallen Downworlders have been carved into the stone.

Simon squeezes his hand, his eyes bright and warm. Simon, who somehow always knows to be right where Jace needs him.

Jace finds himself nodding. Maybe Valentine is still locked somewhere down below, deep beneath their feet, but his presence has no room to spread up here. There’s no space for anything but them today. All of them.

He smiles, turning to the front of the hall and waiting for Izzy to announce the beginning of the ceremony.

 

\--

THE END

  
  
  
  



End file.
